Through Hidden Faces
by lifeinapizzabox
Summary: Will Graham knows he is the only one he can trust. Hannibal is trying to shake this confidence and continue with his manipulation of Will's head. Starts just as Savoureux ends.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **__So I've been thinking a lot about Season 2 since the finale last night, and I have had a burning need to write things down. It is going to be multiple chapters, my first attempt at such, and I am pretty excited. There will be a few small differences from things established from the finale, the most significant being Hannibal is watching Will's dogs at his request, not Alana. Enough waiting. Onto the story._

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing, I only wish these characters came from my head._

Hannibal walked down the hall of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. It seemed like a sick joke. He had walked down this same hall once before, preparing to confront his copycat murderer. He had been furious then, insulted that anyone had tried to duplicate his efforts, and done so poorly at that.

Now he was visiting his friend.

It was much harder for him this time. Alana had warned him that Will was hardly speaking to anyone. He occasionally sent out a note, Hannibal himself had received one, but for the most part he was silent. The acting director until Chilton returned, Hannibal hadn't bothered with his name, told him Will didn't cause any trouble, excepting their trip to Minnesota, but he wasn't doing anything to attempt to solve his problems either. Jack called in Hannibal, hoping the man would be able to even get Will to talk.

He couldn't refuse the request. Not only would it be out of character as Hannibal had never turned Will down before, but he needed to talk to Will. He needed to know how much Will remembered from that day in Minnesota. He needed to know what Will thought was true.

This was a selfish visit. If he didn't remember that day or wrote it off on the encephalitis, Hannibal would take Du Maurier's advice and leave; if he was speculative or remembered perfectly, Hannibal needed to stay and work to continue to work with Will, convince him everything in Minnesota was the encephalitis. From there, it would be difficult to make Will believe he had committed these murders, but it was definitely possible. He just needed to be sure Alana or Chilton did not interfere too much. He would need to be put down as Will's official psychiatrist.

That was all in the future. Today, Hannibal was here for answers. He was here for help solving a problem from the problem itself.

He paused in front of Will's cell, taking a moment to observe the man. He was bent over on his bed, thinking, just as Alana had said. Thinking was dangerous, Hannibal was more aware of that than most.

"Hello, Will."

Will rarely slept here. He went to bed when he was told, but he didn't want to risk breaking is train of thoughts with sleep. It was already too hard to think in here. If he did sleep, it was only because his body shut down on him.

The stag no longer haunted his dreams. It was replaced by the echoes of people. He never saw faces, but he could identify the new stars of his nightmares easily enough. Hannibal was there almost every night, always lurking in the corner of Will's eye. The rest were those that he was accused of killing. He followed them on endless hikes that lead only deeper into the mess of his mind.

Abigail acted as his guide. It was clear this was meant to make him feel guilty, but for some reason, he wasn't. Not in the way he should be. He regretted not being able to stop them, but he knew they were not his doing. After every forced sleep, he woke up shaking and damp, but more determined than before to prove himself innocent. That was his drive, what kept him going day to day.

He knew he should reach out to Alana, but he was the only one that could work this out. Part of him was afraid that if he was proven stable, he would lose his chance to be freed of the charges. He would lose his ability to see into the crime scenes.

He was sure of two things: he did not commit the murders and he was the only one that could prove it.

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps coming down the hall. It was a practiced gait, the person giving the steps the perfect roll to prevent them from creating the typical echoing sound of dress shoes on concrete. His visitor would never adorn anything less, not here, not to see Will.

Will stood up at his name, walking over to stand in front of Hannibal. This man held all of the answers Will needed. The only challenge would be getting the truth out of him. Hannibal had been lying to him, manipulating him, but just as before, Will had no one else to turn to.

For the past several months, he had been sure Hannibal was trying to help him. He had trusted him completely, called him his friend. Now he didn't know what to believe. He could have done something, but instead he had used Will, taking advantage of him. Will just had no idea what he wanted out of it. He could have framed anyone.

Will looked up, meeting Hannibal's eyes with confidence. He was no longer afraid as he had been when Jack sent him to Hannibal's office for the first time, insisting his evaluation couldn't be done by a friend. If only he knew how far the pair would grow together. If only he could have seen how Will would snap. If only he acknowledged the fact Will was human, and he could be broken rather than just playing on the part of him that wanted to save lives.

"Hello, Dr. Lecter," Will answered, returning to the formalities he hadn't used since his first appointment.

Hannibal smiled. A smile that Will had never seen before. In countless sessions and trips to crimes scenes, hospital visits and shared meals, he had never really seen Hannibal look at him like this. Look at him like an equal.

"Please, call me Hannibal. There is no reason to be formal. We are friends"

"Friends. You aren't here as my friend. You are here because someone asked you to be, Jack or Alana more than likely. There is something more than that, though. You couldn't turn them down because you can't resist me," he chuckled. "You never could."

"I am here for no reason than because I want to be, you are correct. You have asked me to care for your dogs. You have come to me," Hannibal replied, his calm mask returning. The smile replaced by the empty one that he was familiar with. The game was back on.

"I know exactly why you are here. You came to say goodbye, you are afraid of me. This was supposed to be the last time you saw me until my court date, and then indefinitely after that."

"You have nothing to worry about when it comes to court. It is unlikely they will prove you were stable enough to remember the murders. You will still be charged with their deaths, but you will remain in a facility such as this one."

"There is no reason for me to stay in court," Will countered. "So I do have to worry about it. I am not going to take responsibility for murders I did not commit."

"Will, you need to accept that it is very likely you did commit these murders. You may never remember them, probably for the best, but all of the evidence points to you," Hannibal explained. Will wasn't buying it. He knew these crimes were not his. They were Hannibal's. He couldn't make that accusation now, not until he had more substantial evidence. He had to wait.

Will grabbed the bars that separated him from Hannibal with one hand. He may not be able to expose Hannibal, but he could try and draw information out of him. It was an unlikely gamble, but even if it failed, there were resources Will needed access to that only permission from his therapist would allow him. Alana would never go for it, but if Hannibal signed on his case it was another story.

"We are playing the same game you have been for months, only now I know the rules," Will said, a smile on his face now. He saw the allure of the manipulation. "You were feeding me answers, convincing me they were the truth and you were the only one I could trust. You were wrong. Maybe I can't trust Jack or Alana or Bev, but I can decide that for myself. If you taught me anything, it was that I can trust Will Graham."

Hannibal was silent, so Will took it as a cue to continue.

"You couldn't have thought I would simply surrender. You of all people know me better than that. You have another player now. Someone to challenge you. It was exactly what you wanted. At the same time, you were hoping I wouldn't know and you could just walk away. You made me too perfect, an equal instead of a challenging opponent. But I do know. So what are you going to do? It isn't like you to give up. We are both stubborn geniuses."

Hannibal's smile returned, and Will released the bar. He had the upper hand here. That was the benefit of sitting at rock bottom; there was nowhere lower to go.

"I don't see why you are so insistent on labeling me your enemy," Hannibal finally said.

"I'm not. I'm looking at myself as the enemy. I'm just not sure what team you are playing for." There was a short silence as the two considered what Will had said. He had planned out this conversation, but that was not a part of it. He was still afraid of seeing himself as the murderer.

"I should go," Hannibal suggested, taking a step away from the cell, breaking the bubble that had formed between them. For a moment it was like the bars had disappeared and they were back in Hannibal's office, Will wandering around, searching for answers among his therapist's trinkets.

"I need you to convince them to give me a pad of paper tomorrow, fresh pens, and images of the victims."

"Images of the ones you killed?"

"That I am accused of killing. That is a dangerous thing for you to insist on looking over."

Hannibal paused. "What makes you assume I am returning?"

"You can't stay away from the game. You have invested too much in it already. Too much in me."

"Say I do return. What do you want the supplies for?"

"I can't tell you that. Right now, I am the only one I can trust."

Hannibal nodded to himself. "Goodbye, Will."

"Until tomorrow, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal sat in the familiar leather chair, his hands resting on the corners of the armrests. He sat in the same spot in the same way, but something was off. There were certain things he didn't speak about with Dr. Du Maurier and she did not ask. He was nervous that he had broken this barrier when he brought her dinner the other night.

Today, he had asked for a last minute appointment to ask her opinion as to what he should do about Will. He knew her answer, but it seemed more concrete coming from someone else. There was someone else to let part of the responsibility fall on. The pressure of a choice, his body count. They were both good things to share. They elicited a reaction.

"You couldn't stay away, could you?" she asked, leaning back in her own chair. Her fingers were intertwined and her hands rested on her crossed legs. The knowing smile on her face made him chuckle and look down. Of course she knew. There were some things he couldn't hide from her; if he tried he would risk letting bigger secrets slip out.

"I have to help Will. I cannot stand to see my friend suffering," Hannibal replied, his voice steady, meeting her eyes again and leaning back in his own chair.

"You say that, but I suspect it isn't true. I do know some about this case, from what you have told me and from what I have figured out from Jack's questions. Will is doing well; he is cooperating with the hospital. He may not be responding to treatment, but I am sure Dr. Bloom can handle it."

"I am his doctor. Dr. Bloom refused his case, and I know more about Will's disorder as a result. I need to help him walk free."

"You do not think he is guilty?"

"I cannot tell," Hannibal lied. "However, I do think he is capable of great things. Things he cannot accomplish behind bars."

"You are willing to fight to free a serial killer on the grounds that he has potential?" Hannibal turned to face the window, offering no comment. "You have turned him into you. That poor boy."

"You were my only companion. I saw an opportunity and I took it. Nothing more."

"You were looking for an equal. Someone that could compete with you mentally. I couldn't because I wasn't willing. I was too stable." They hadn't discussed this topic since Hannibal asked why they weren't friends. It was relegated to the list of avoided topics. It was the only way for them to maintain a steady relationship. It allowed Hannibal to keep returning. "Why did you save my life?"

"I like speaking with you. It helps me clear my head. I cannot keep everything to myself," Hannibal paused again. "I had grown fond of you."

"You sift through the thoughts of so many others, sometimes it is hard to listen to your own," Dr. Du Maurier translated. "I can understand that. The best therapists always see one themselves. I stopped that practice when I stopped seeing patients."

"You think it is time for this to stop?"

"I think it is time you stop seeing unstable cases, people that you cannot fix."

"Specifically Will Graham."

"Yes," she said before checking her watch. "Our time is almost over. Can I interest you in a glass of wine?" It was the usual routine, but tonight Hannibal had other priorities.

"I do not want to be rude, but I must decline. I have to talk with Jack Crawford. Will made a request today he will need to hear about." He stood to go. "Thank you for your time. It has been a pleasure as always."

"I am not your friend, Hannibal, and I never can be, but if you won't listen to me as your therapist, then do so as you would your acquaintance, whoever you would listen to. You need to stop seeing Will. I worry about what it will do for you."

"I trust and listen to Will, and he wishes for me to return. How can I deny him that?"

"You and I both know it wouldn't be that hard. You are in his head, but are you sure he has not found his way into yours?"

"I will keep that in mind when I call Jack and make my decision about tomorrow. Thank you."

She rose also, following Hannibal to the door. Hannibal turned to shake her hand and offer his regrets at turning down the wine once again, but she spoke before he could.

"If I am asked to testify against Will Graham and the dangers an unstable patient presents, I will not hesitate to tell them how I escaped my attacker," she stated. There was a warning in her eyes, and Hannibal knew it was to be taken seriously.

His downfall would be Will. He was as aware of that was Bedelia. He could not let this drop, though. He was far too invested. She was right, Will had gotten into Hannibal's head, and he needed a way to get him out. He was perfectly aware he was too invested. It was just helped to hear someone else say it before he called Jack and asked to be written a pass to see Will daily as his psychiatrist.

"I will keep that in mind. I will see you next week."

"And please make it a week," she replied with a small smile. "No more house calls. Your dinner was excellent, but unexpected."

"I understand. It was a moment of weakness. Goodbye."

"Good night, Hannibal." She shut the door behind him. He stood there for a moment before walking to his car. He had a long night ahead of him. Jack was not going to take Will's requests for the photographs well, but Hannibal needed to ensure their delivery.

He could not tear himself away from Will Graham, his most beautiful creation. He had come too far to give up on him now. The risk of being revealed was not enough to deter Hannibal. No, this was something much greater. This was his masterpiece, the defining creation of his career. His murders would be remembered as long as the Chesapeake Ripper, in the gruesome way one could not look away from a car accident, but passing out one's mind as soon as they reached their exit.

Will Graham would serve as something much stronger. What that was, he wasn't sure yet, but it was going to be glorious. He had no desire to be remembered, but he still felt a desire to leave something behind. For him, it was as simple as enjoying the killing, the manipulating. It was a game, just as Will had said, and it was Hannibal's favorite.

The public would want a reason why. They would not understand the thrill of killing, not like Hannibal, nor like Will had with Hobbs. That was what made Will so perfect. He would be expected to explain, but he couldn't. Not because he didn't know the answers, but because they would haunt him, terrify him, and that was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **__Thank you so much to everyone that read and reviewed the first chapter. I am so sorry about the delay, but now I am a few chapters ahead so it shouldn't happen again anytime soon. I am going to post a chapter every Friday. This was really difficult, and I'm not quite satisfied with it, but I wanted to keep moving. It is really just a filler. I hope you enjoy reading it more than I did writing it. I promise it picks up in Chapter 3._

Will never thought he would miss working in the field. He didn't think he would long to feel the serial killers eating his mind form the inside out. There was no pressure here, nothing was rushed. Time meant nothing. It worried Will how easy it was to get lost in that; part of him wanted to let the monotony take over.

Then there was the part that was fighting. It was screaming at the top of its lungs: desperate for freedom. It needed the constant stream of problems to be solved and the mundane action of feeding his dogs that kept routine and sanity in his strange life. It reminded him what it was like not to eat when he was told. It begged to look at his house from a distance as he had done so many times. It ached for human contact–even simpler to see someone without steel bars splitting his vision.

He needed to solve his case. That would satisfy the nagging voice in his head. It was a distraction that would not allow him complacency. Complacency was dangerous.

"What the hell do you want pictures of the murder scenes for?" Jack Crawford demanded, breaking him from Will from his thoughts. It was no surprise he was here, it was the reason he sat at his table and chair, both bolted to the ground of course. He preferred sitting in the corner–his back on one wall and his shoulder pressed against the other, the cold keeping him grounded as he tried to recreate the murders without getting lost in the world of the Stag–but he figured it was better that visitors only saw him on the bed or the chair, places "stable" people sat.

"I knew you would be here today; there was no doubt Dr. Lecter would tell you about my request," Will commented, looking Jack in the eyes. He used to be distracted by them, but he was quickly learning to read them. He didn't want to get into the habit in case he ever returned as a special agent–dead bodies had dead eyes–but it was helpful now, to know people's thoughts, to see how guilty they believed he was. It added additional depth to his empathy.

"That isn't an answer."

"It's not breaking any rules. I'm allowed to have soft papers and these special pens. I don't see why there is a problem."

"It is a goddamn problem, Will. We can't give the murderer access to case files, especially without knowing the reason."

"I'm allowed books if I ask for them. I can receive mail. I can send letters and call my lawyer. I am not a criminal, and I cannot be tried as one until I am pronounced mentally stable. I am allowed certain luxuries, anything they think may help." Will replied, his voice calm. He was perfectly aware of his rules.

"Luxuries my ass. What do you want them for?" Jack demanded again.

"I am going to prove myself innocent."

"You have a lawyer for that," Jack objected.

"I have every right to try and help myself."

"I can't let you see those files."

"You and I both know you can give me whatever you want. Plus, I am a safe gamble. I won't talk to Lounds, or any skeezeball reporter for that matter. It won't be let out to the public through me, and with Chilton gone, it is unlikely anyone here will tell," Will answered. They sat in silence for a moment. "I don't need the full files. Just pictures of how the bodies were found. I need to treat myself like a serial killer. I need to recreate the scenes in my head as if I had done them."

"And you need pictures to do that?"

"You know how I work. It'll be hard enough to recreate it without being in the crime scene. At least give me this."

"I'll talk with Dr. Lecter. He has signed on your official psychiatrist. If he thinks you should have them, then I will allow it. He has done you good already. I heard you talked to Alana after his visit." It was a poor attempt at changing the subject, but Will took it.

"Briefly," he confirmed.

"Briefly is still something." Jack paused. "Something better come of this, Will, and I better not come out looking like a damn fool."

"You won't be disappointed."

Jack walked off nodding to himself. Will smiled and moved to his corner. Will put his head back, closed his eyes and retired for relief into the quiet of his memory palace, a place that is quite haunted but endlessly beautiful.

"I don't think this is wise, Jack," Alana said, crossing her legs. These meetings had become daily. Jack sitting behind his desk, slowly rotating back and forth behind his desk, Hannibal to her left-endlessly composed, and Alana fighting to have her opinions heard. Everyone here thought they knew what was best for Will; she was beginning to question if any of them even had a clue.

"We have to try something," Jack replied, swirling his glass of seltzer. The sound of ice cubes clinking made her head pound. It had been a long night of research, capping off a full week of sleep deprivation.

"We don't have to try anything! He has a lawyer to try those things. He will plead insanity, and stay in Baltimore. We need to try and help Will come to terms with these murders, regardless of whether or not he committed them. Giving him these files would allow him to sink deeper into the cases."

"What are your thoughts, Dr. Lecter?" Jack asked without even looking her way. Alana wanted to scream. She was trying to think of Will's health, and often felt like she was fighting against two men focusing on setting him free.

"I don't think Will trusts his lawyer," Hannibal remarked after a moment of thought.

"Why not?"

"He won't talk to anyone who thinks he is guilty," he responded, looking to Alana.

She stood up, slamming her hand onto the table.

"Damn it, Hannibal. I think he is sick and I think you are a liar," she yelled, finally reaching her breaking point.

"We have been through this, Dr. Bloom. Encephalitis is incredibly difficult to detect." He spoke in that infuriating, ever calm tone. She wanted to–she couldn't even place it. She didn't want to hit him, to yell, to turn to Jack. She just wanted out of this room. "Can you honestly tell me you would have seen such a pattern in Will?"

"Of course not! That's why we sent him to you. You were supposed to act as an impartial judge." This was it. She finally had her moment to speak her thoughts and exhaustion rendered her filter useless. "When we first discussed this matter, Jack, you asked me if Will could have forged the clock for me. I didn't lie when he said he could have, but it was unlikely he knew the disease. A former surgeon with extensive knowledge of Will's condition could have drawn a completely normal clock, however."

"Alana, think about this," Jack said, standing up. "You are accusing the man who you referred Will to of forging tests. Dr. Lecter is one of the most respected in your field."

Alana looked at the wall behind him.

"She is right, I could have forged the test. You must trust that I have not."

"Why do I have any reason to trust you over Will?" she quipped, the adrenaline leaving her.

"Maybe you should go home, get some rest. You can talk to Will in a few days. Dr. Lecter has signed onto his case, and a couple of months ago, you would have fully supported this." Jack walked to the back of the room. "We have all been working ourselves to the bone trying to help one of our own. Let's call it a day." He pulled open the door, and Alana walked towards it, exhaustion and anger coursing through her.

"You're right. It makes more sense to look at it tomorrow," she resigned, nodding at Jack.

"We can't afford to delay, Alana," Hannibal said behind her, making her jump a little. She needed to wind down. "If you don't mind, Jack, I'd like to visit Will first thing tomorrow and bring him the requested information."

"What is one more day?" she sighed, not turning to look at him.

"It is a lot of time in prison, especially when your court date ticks ever closer."

"I have to agree with Dr. Lecter here, Alana. We should give Will as much of a chance as possible, and if he thinks he can find something in the evidence, who are we to stop him? If this was any other killer, we would have Will on the case."

"This is different," Alana protested.

"It really isn't," Hannibal agreed with Jack. "Why should we treat Will any differently?"

"Because he is unstable. He could be a killer. These are the murders he might have committed," Alana said, exasperated. "I thought we were going to decide this together. I thought that was why we called this meeting. Not for a snap decision, but to discuss this situation from every angle. We've hardly even touched on what will happen if the public hears about this. What if TattleCrime catches wind?" she tried one last point to buy more time.

"We have been here two hours and have to try something. We can't delay, Alana, or we could run out of time."

"I can't believe you. I thought we respected each other, Hannibal, but apparently you don't have time for my opinion anymore."

"You said that to me when I took Abigail out of the hospital," Hannibal reminded her, meeting her eyes. "You said it was rude as she was your patient and it defied your actions as her doctor and the mutual respect we share as colleagues. While the three of us all care about Will, the fact remains he is my patient. How is this situation any different?"

Alana looked at him bewildered. His calmness and her exhaustion rendered her speechless, so she merely nodded to Jack, letting the door slam on her way out.

Several hours and a good meal later, Alana sat on her couch, idly flipping through channels. Her laptop was on the cushion next to her, its blank screen casting light on her face. About an hour earlier she had sent an email to Hannibal apologizing for her outburst and acting as in the manner that had infuriated her only weeks ago. She knew she should have called, but she didn't want to fight with him again and feared she would not be able to contain herself in a conversation, setting her back even further.

A new message appeared at the top of her screen and she put down the remote, news flashing across the television, to see who it was from. Upon seeing Hannibal's name, she pulled the computer onto her legs and clicked it open with a sigh.

_It is quite alright, Dr. Bloom. You brought up several excellent points, and as time passes, it would be ideal if we could explore them together. I know this may seem to be a rash decision, but it is best not to delay. I hope you had a pleasant evening. Also, Jack and I ask you refrain from visiting Will for the next three days. I will drop off the files, but we think it is best he has no contact with anyone with extensive knowledge of his condition communicating with him until he finishes. It is a risk–one I wish we did not need to take. Until tomorrow._

Infuriating, condescending man. Alana still was pleased they were friends. It made the situation easier to write off. Now that she was away from the office, she could see how right Jack and Hannibal were about the short time. She was determined to win one battle, though, and quickly typed a reply.

_I don't think it is wise to cut off all contact. We do not need Will feeling isolated, especially not now. I recommend sending Beverly Katz with the files and to visit every day. She knows about his case, but her knowledge of the encephalitis only stretches as far as knowing of its existence and what Will has told her as a friend. She will also be able to answer any questions he has._

With the message sent, she stood up and whistled through her teeth. Six dogs came bounding out of her bedroom and followed her into the kitchen. By the time she had fed and let them out, she had received a reply.

_That is a wise course of action; we did not consider the repercussions of isolation. I will confirm this with Jack, and request the assistance of Ms. Katz tomorrow. Thank you, Alana. Good night._

A smug smile on her face, she flipped off the television and closed her screen. It was early for her to sleep, but she could use the extra rest. Maybe a few days without going to the Baltimore State Hospital would do her some good. She wouldn't stop thinking of Will, but she could make some progress on the reports and research she had dropped since his conviction.

It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. She just hoped bigger ones were in the future.

_A/N: Yes, the last sentence from the first segment is alluding to The Silence of the Lambs (maybe Red Dragon. I can't remember and forgot to write down which book oops). Anyway. Thank you for reading! Reviews are always appreciated._


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **__ So sorry about the delay. With fanfiction down on Friday, classes, and sickness, I haven't had the time to upload. I'm generally shitty about remembering to upload, too. Sorry about that. Emjoy!_

This was the last place in the world Bevery Katz wanted to be. She had responsibilities, the most important being analyzing the evidence of Will's case. When she had tried to explain this to Jack, he had told her it was the best thing for the case and the best thing for Will.

They treated that man like a damn china doll. He was tough. He survived months in the field with a condition that drove lesser completely insane.

None of them thought Will capable of murder. Bev analyzed the facts. The facts said Will was more than capable, and he had been doing it right under the nose of the FBI for months. No one would dare doubt Behavioral Science's shining star, though. They patted him on the head and sent him off the therapy. He very well could have lied to them all, but they were still catering to his every whim.

That wasn't to say she didn't like Will. They were friends. She simply hated how he was being treated. He should be treated like a serial killer. Jack argued he should be treated as a sick, but gifted FBI agent. He also told Bev to keep her opinions to herself. She had never been fond of doing that.

After an agonizing twenty minutes in the waiting room, Bev was finally called down by an orderly. He tried to create small talk, but Bev quickly shut down all of his attempts at conversation. Eventually, he surrendered, and they walked through the halls in silence. He opened the heavy doors to the maximum security ward where Will was being held.

She walked quickly down the hall. 3 hours of her day was being dedicated to this errand. Hannibal both lived and worked in Baltimore. He had to have an assistant. Jack had shut down all of her logic. Logic that apparently meant nothing when it came to his prize. She shouldn't be surprised. She needed to let it go; this really wasn't Will's fault.

Well. The waste of time. All evidence pointed to him belonging in one of these cells no matter what Jack and Alana wanted to believe. It was going to be impossible to get him out of here.

She walked up to the cell to find Will standing up from the corner of the room. It looked like he was just waking up, but he was nowhere near his bed.

"Have a nice nap?" Bev asked, holding the files close to her.

He shook his head "I wasn't sleeping." He left it there.

"Thinking?"

"Always," he answered. "I didn't think anyone was coming today."

"Well, I have your information. I don't know why you want it, but I was told not to ask questions." She accompanied the sentence with a look that made it clear she was asking why.

"I need to figure out who did this," he replied, pushing his food tray towards the hallway. Bev continued to hold onto the papers.

"You did this."

"Maybe I did. But I need to prove that."

"During processing, you said you just interpreted the evidence. All of the evidence points to you belonging in here." Bev crossed her arms. "What changed?"

"I don't feel like I have seen all of the evidence."

"You have. You were at the crime scenes."

"I was looking for a killer there. I was looking for someone else."

"And now you need to see if you can find yourself."

Will nodded. She put the thick folder into the slot. He didn't pull it back into the cell, watching Bev instead. They stared at each other for a moment, and it occurred to Bev how wrong it was to see him standing behind these bars. She could see why the evidence was so hard to believe; why Jack, Alana, Hannibal–three of the most intelligent people she had ever had the privilege of working with–doubted the evidence that was right in front of them.

"Why did they send you?" Will questioned, breaking their silence. "I thought there was a pretty limited list of people that were allowed to see me."

"The interim director is a lot… weaker willed than Chilton, so he was easy to get around. A flash of an FBI badge and a mention of Jack Crawford, and he is more than willing to let anyone in."

"Flaw in their security. I'd rather have him than Chilton, though. I think he is afraid of me." Will shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his face. His amusement wasn't in the man's fear, Bev knew Will wouldn't delight in that, but rather something darker that only he could see. It made Bev shudder.

"I think he is afraid of all of you," she muttered.

"Chilton was."

"He was different, though. He was a coward. He tried to make his prisoners less harmless through answers, regardless of their accuracy. This man is just afraid and far less dangerous. I worry about you when Chilton is recovered enough to take his position back."

Will didn't offer a comment.

"You didn't answer my question." She looked down. She had avoided doing that for a reason. Of course he noticed. There was very little he didn't. "Why did they send you?"

"They wanted someone a bit more distant from your case."

"I hope that you are not distant. You, Jimmy, and Brian are the best we have. Jack knows that, and I'm sure he wants you working around the clock on this."

"There are still cases. Killers don't stop killing just because Will Graham is in prison."

"I don't expect them too."

"You always took time alone at the crime scene, used it to recreate the killer's actions. Will you be able to do that with just photos?" she asked to change the subject.

"I'll give you answers if you do the same," he responded, leaning against the wall.

"Fine. They told me I was going for the exact same reason I told you."

"You don't think that's true." Bev folded her arms and looked right at Will.

"I am almost positive they sent me because I think you killed those people. They wanted me to come in here, see what a precious piece of china you are, and come out with my tail between my legs. I'm sure Hannibal told Jack having me believe you are innocent is the only way I will fight to get you out of here," she explained.

"I don't know why they still think you are going to keep your mouth shut around me. You never have in the past." He grinned, and it actually seemed genuine. She wondered when the last time a real smile had crossed his face was. "So you're helping me as your friend, then?"

"Seeing you in prison isn't going to appeal to my sympathies and friendship doesn't make me want to set free a serial killer."

"Then why are you still on the case?"

Bev smiled. "I want to see where it goes. I want to be the one that convicts you or the one that finds a discrepancy in the evidence. I want to treat you like you were anyone else."

"Thank you," Will said. He pulled the food tray towards him and removed his folder.

"For what?"

"I think you are the only person that sees it how I do. Jack is convinced I am innocent. Alana wants to prove I was innocent or at least have no recollection of the murders. Hannibal just wants me to get better. I want to treat this like any other case."

"I thought as much."

"But that's not why you are doing it," Will objected, skimming through the pages. "You're not doing it because you know that's how I am thinking."

"I'm doing it because it is the only way to think that allows room for the truth. I still consider myself your friend, but I do not care about your feelings when it comes to this case. I want to know your thoughts, your facts, but keep your feelings out of this. That's why you have a therapist."

"Thank you, Bev. I know this isn't easy."

"For the files? It isn't a big deal."

"No. For just being my friend. Nothing more." He turned back to the beginning to the file. She could tell he was losing himself in the work.

"Well, you're welcome." She stepped back. "I'm going to head out."

"I never answered your question."

"I think I know. You've seen enough. It's time to step back." He nodded in response. Bev walked back down the hallway, glancing back at him once. No goodbyes. He is lost in his work, something only he can do.

Jack was wrong. Talking to Will as bluntly as she did didn't hurt. In fact, Bev believed he needed to hear it from someone, and it might as well be her. Everyone else was afraid.

A third type of fear. Not the cowardice of Chilton or the nervousness of this director. This was the fear of loss. This was often the most crippling.

She refused to let it get to her. She just hoped Will kept the same policy.

Will put the files down on his desk. He looked up at his blank walls and pressed his eyebrows together.

The grey concrete walls did not lend themselves well to crimes that primarily occurred in homes and outdoors. The closest was Georgia Manched in the hospital. It made him tempted to start with her case, but he knew it would be a mistake.

His best option was to chronicle the progression of his encephalitis in parallel with the crimes he was accused of committing. If he was lucky, he would be able to convince Jack to give him some of the other case files Will had worked on. It would help him fill in the gaps, find crimes that fit in with these.

If they existed.

He couldn't afford to think like that. He couldn't believe he was innocent, but he also couldn't fall into the trap that he was condemned. He needed to look at this as if it was a familiar serial killer, not the spontaneous events and copycat actions he had initially suspected they were.

The Chesapeake Ripper. The Minnesota Shrike. These would make up the foundation of his investigation. One case he hadn't solved, another where he had been lucky. He needed more than that now.

He pulled the ball of sticky tack he had been allotted off of his table and began hanging papers, photographs, and brain scans alike. He created two timelines that formed a loop on his walls, making them less barren and more haunting simultaneously.

After several hours of arranging and rearranging, Will stepped back to take in his work. The lower of the two–the one tracking his encephalitis–was far more disconcerting. The path of the killings were clear and detailed, one leading to another.

The majority of the information on his brain was lumped towards the end. He had been seeing Dr. Lecter far longer than that, and he made note to ask for anything Hannibal could release to him in their next session. If nothing else, he would take his own notes after the fact. He would ask questions to help him fill in these holes.

He always talked before. If he wanted to solve this, he was going to have to listen.

That would be a while, Will figured. They were giving him space which was why Bev had delivered the files. He appreciated it. It backed him into a corner, gave him a clear starting point.

Cassie Boyle.

He took a deep breath, the sickly sweet smell of wildflowers and grass filling his brain. He could see her body as clearly as the first time. Maybe he could lose himself in these pictures.

He stepped towards the image of her body. He touched the points where it was expertly mounted on the antlers. Marissa Schurr was found in a similar manner.

This was one of the points that continued to confuse him. Will was a fisherman, not a hunter. If he had attempted a maneuver such as this, it would have been awkward in a fully conscious mind. It was unlikely his disease was active at that point, but this was expertly done. Even ignoring the fact he could have learned for Marissa, his first attempt was too perfect.

Either someone had put a lot of thought and research into this or they had done it before.

Abigail?

She did admit to helping her father. Maybe he left behind someone to continue his work.

He didn't want that. The thoughts were racing through his mind. This was wrong. This wasn't how he worked. There were too many facts, too many connections. He needed to isolate them.

That was his issue when Hannibal had asked him to look at himself as the murderer. It had been too broad. Bev had wanted to bring it down to just the facts, but those floated through his mind refusing to latch onto anything concrete.

Will was excellent at his job because he could do what no one else could. He empathized easily with the killers.

He was reluctant.

That is what got him into this situation. It was likely it triggered his encephalitis. If he had avoided field work, he could be sitting safely in his classroom.

If he had done that, he would be preparing a lecture on the tenth, eleventh, twelfth victim of Garrett Jacob Hobbs.

Abigail Hobbs could still be alive.

Her father could have killed her.

Will stepped forward, eye level with the picture of Cassie Boyle.

He closed his eyes, surrounded by the cool breeze, chirping crickets, and sweet smells that were Cassie's last sensations.

_**A/N: **__The next chapter will be completely focused on this empathy moment! I know they last bit was filler, but I really needed a transition and the next chapter is too long to combine them. _

_A few things. I have an insane amount of work, so the next chapter will probably be a week from Friday, then there will be a regular posting schedule. Also, I am looking for a beta reader, so please drop me a message if you are interested. I am looking for someone relatively involved – catching my careless errors to completely rewriting the plot – that will also help me stick to a posting schedule. If I don't get anyone interested in that, just someone to help me catch foolish mistakes would be awesome. Thank you to everyone that may want to help and everyone that has left reviews. It know it is cliché, but they really are motivating._


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